


Never Surrender

by Cassiopeias_Sky



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes - Freeform, Comfort, Depression, F/M, Reader Insert, oh and bucky is an absolute angel, random armageddon movie quotes for the win, reader x bucky - Freeform, self hate, there's still some fluff though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 09:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11918427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassiopeias_Sky/pseuds/Cassiopeias_Sky
Summary: This is a songfic inspired by Skillet's Never Surrender.Do you know what it's like whenYou're scared to see yourselfDo you know what it's like whenYou wish you were someone elseWho didn't need your help to get byDo you know what it's likeTo wanna surrender-Skillet (Never Surrender)





	Never Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> Sentences/phrases in italics indicate song lyrics

_Do you know what it’s like when_  
You’re scared to see yourself?  
Do you know what it’s like when  
You wish you were someone else? 

 

You rummage through your closet for what feels like the fiftieth time, and you fight back the tears. Again. The problem isn’t that you don’t have any clothes, it’s that none of them fit right or make you feel good about yourself. Then again, nothing really feels good anymore. Hasn’t for a few weeks.

A heavy sigh finds its way out. It isn’t exactly that you’d forgotten about your family pictures, it’s more that you chose not to think about it, and things you don’t think about tend to sneak up on you…like your junior year of high school, when you knew you were going to Homecoming but put off buying a dress until the afternoon of the dance. That hadn’t worked out well for you – the only options available were picked over, ugly, and Ill-fitting. “Procrastination, just another one of my amazingly incredible talents,” you snark to yourself. God, can’t you do anything right?

The portraits were your dad’s idea, and you thought you’d have enough time to do what you needed to do to get ‘picture ready,’ but no. Everything’s exactly the same as it was three months ago when the appointment was scheduled. The same weight you aren’t comfortable at, the same height you hate. The same hair, skin, eyes…everything’s the fucking same and you hate it.

You hate yourself.

You really don’t want to be memorialized this way, to have a tangible piece of evidence of your glaring imperfections, but it isn’t like you can call in sick to your family pictures. Well maybe….no. No, you can’t.

Shit.

You pull on another pair of pants, and immediately take them off when you see how they emphasize the wrong parts of your body. Maybe a skirt would be more forgiving of your flaws? One shirt, two shirts, three shirts later…one was too short, one too long, and one too loose in one area but too tight in another. 

By this point the dam is ready to break, and you aren’t sure what’s holding you together. Well yes, actually, you do. Your boyfriend will be home soon and you don’t want him to see you like this. It’s not that he’d judge you – he’d never do that, in fact, if anybody would know how you feel it’d be him – it’s just that Bucky deals with enough. It’s not like you to hide yourself away from him, but you can’t help but feel how unfair it is to Bucky that you’re like this; he carries enough, he doesn’t need to shoulder your burdens, too.

Because that’s what you are, right? A burden. And not even a pretty burden. You choke back the sob that threatens to destroy your composure as you look in the mirror. Worthless. Stupid. Hideous.

 

_Do you know what it’s like when_  
You’re not who you wanna be?  
Do you know what it’s like to  
Be your own worst enemy? 

 

30 minutes till you have to leave – back to the closet.

Maybe that green shirt would look better if you wore the pink bra? Fuck, where is the pink bra?

The tears threaten again, and you decide to change tactics. “Make up, don’t fail me now,” you mutter as you take your place at the brightly lit vanity; a gift from Bucky when you’d moved in together. You’ll deal with the clothing situation in a bit, you still need to get your face and hair done.

Well, today is not your day, to say the least. You can’t get the shading right on your eyeshadow, the eyeliner is smudged and not in a good way, and your left eyelashes are a mascara clumped mess while the right eye has a perfect imprint of the mascara brush just above your lash line. And then there’s the Mount Vesuvius of zits on your chin that you have to try to disguise – you might as well put a fucking Hello Kitty bandaid on the thing for all the luck you’re having hiding it. “Goddammit.” Seriously, will you manage to get anything right today??

You glance at the clock – fuck, you have to leave in 15 minutes. You fix your eyes as best you can and move onto your hair. Your hair that you’d skipped washing this morning because you’d overslept, because on top of everything else, you’re lazy and greasy and gross. Okay, well, there’s not much you can do about that now. Maybe some dry shampoo?

The bottle spits pathetically. Empty. Of course, because you couldn’t fucking remember to pick more up.

“GodDAMN IT!” you screech as you slam the bottle down.

Why are you such a waste of space? Your hands clutch at your hair as you slump down, desperately fighting back the tears. You’d think that you’d be a champ at this by now.

 

_Do you know what it’s like  
To wanna surrender?_

 

“Sugarplum? Where are you, baby? Are you ready to go?” Bucky’s voice floats through the bedroom door.

If you answer there will be sobs instead of words, so you don’t answer.

“Sugarplum?” His hand becomes a comforting weight on your shoulder. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asks quietly as he kneels down to your level.

You can’t lie to him – not just because you decided you never would, but because you simply can’t. He’d know. So you don’t. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” you mumble as you shrug off his touch and walk into the closet. He follows, but doesn’t say anything.

As you stare listlessly at the clothes still hanging in your closet, you can feel his gaze. Truth be told, you probably don’t have to tell him what’s wrong. You know him well enough to know that he’s observed the state of the bedroom – the clothes everywhere, the way your vanity is disorganized – he knew before he even saw you. Not to mention that he lives with you; prying isn’t his style, though, so he’s been respecting your boundaries even though you’ve been steadily closing down and pushing him away.

“Ya know, I always like seeing you in that black and teal dress, the one you were wearing when we first met.” His soft baritone eases something, you’re not sure what, and you nod. You hadn’t considered that dress because it isn’t in your closet – it’s still hanging in the laundry room from the last time it was washed. You know without looking that he’s gone to get it; he’s doing his best to help without stepping on your toes. He respects you when you say you don’t want to talk, and instead of pushing, he waits for you to come to him. Your shoulders slump and you swallow hard when you think of how he deserves so much better than what you can offer.

“Here you go, Sugarplum,” he murmurs as he helps you put on the dress. It’s one of your favorites – soft with a graceful and flowy skirt, it accentuates what you usually like about yourself while still managing to mostly camouflage the parts you want to keep hidden. 

“Thanks,” you mutter as you head back out to your vanity. “I just…I have to do something with my hair.” You speak in barely a whisper – you sound pathetic. You are pathetic.

He’s quiet for a moment before clearing his throat. “What about your sexy twisty hairdo?”

Confusion washes over you. “What?”

“Your sexy twisty hairdo,” he motions with his hands, and as you watch him through the mirror it’s almost enough to make you giggle. Almost. “It’s…it’s what I call that updo you do when I keep you up too late the night before and you oversleep…the one you do with the hair stick and the thick black plasticy lacy headband.”

Oh. Well, that’s actually a really good idea. You’d wanted to wear your hair down, but that clearly isn’t going to work today. Twisting and pinning it up takes care of the texture issues, and the headband hides both the slightly greasy hair and the unruly flyaways that frame your face. It’s a look that takes all of a minute to put together but looks like it took at least twenty. And he’s right – it’s the way you wear your hair to work on mornings you run late, and you get more compliments on those days than any other.

“Thanks, Buck.” You still can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he pulls you into a bone-cracking hug, “anytime, Sugarplum.”

***

Pictures went as well as could be expected, you suppose. They’re still taking pictures of the new grandbaby when your mom approaches you in the sitting room.

“You don’t seem like you today. Did you and Bucky have a fight?”

You shake your head – there’s no way you’re blaming this on him, because he’s been nothing but perfect – but she’ll poke and prod until she gets an answer. Might as well suck it up and be honest. “I’m just not happy with myself, Mom.” There. You’ve said it. You can see out of the corner of your eye that Bucky stiffens at your words, even though he’s not facing you. Goddamn supersoldier hearing.

“You look fine, and no one will notice your make up in the pictures; none of them were closeups.”

You roll your eyes so hard, you’re pretty sure you pulled a muscle. Leave it to your mom to try to make you feel better by completely disregarding your feelings. She means well, but it doesn’t help. 

“Honey, we’ve been over this before. I’ve already told you, you’re perfect the way you are. Tall girls always want to be short, short girls always want to be tall, skinny girls want to be curvy and curvy girls want to be skinny. Curly girls want straight hair, and straight-haired girls want curls. People just want what they don’t have.” She looks at you like she expects her statements to suddenly lift the dark cloud hanging over you.

Okay, fine, you’ll concede the truth of her words to a point because you’ve had the hair conversation about a million times in your life, but the rest of what she says is not completely true. Everyone you know has at least one thing they love about themselves, but not you. Your self-loathing sharpens - why did you have to get the short end of the stick on everything? Why can’t you have at least one thing about yourself that you like?

“Are you still seeing that doctor?” 

“What?” Her question takes you by surprise.

“For your depression. Are you still seeing someone? Still taking your meds?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” you snap. Yes, you’ve been taking your antidepressant. No, you haven’t seen your therapist lately – you’ve been working late hours and haven’t had time. But what does that fucking matter? The way you feel is the way you feel.

“Well, that’s supposed to help with…things…” Your mom struggles with this, she always has. You suppose it’s because she doesn’t like the idea of her baby girl feeling less than happy at all times. 

You can’t find it in you to care. “So because I take a pill I’m not allowed to have bad feelings? They don’t just magically go away, Mom.”

She opens her mouth to respond when Bucky steps up.

“I’m so sorry Sugarplum, but I need you to bring me into the clinic. My arm is acting up – the upgrades Stark did this afternoon must have some sort of glitch because the nerve receptors just quit working.”

You glance at him to see his metal arm hanging awkwardly. “Oh shit, yeah, of course,” you murmur as you start digging for the keys.

“I’m sorry to cut this short ma’am, but I’ll be sure to bring your daughter out to see you next weekend,” Bucky promises, nodding respectfully before placing his right hand at your lower back to guide you out of the sitting room. It isn’t until you get to the car and he takes the keys from you that you realize what he’s done – his arm is absolutely fine.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I thought it would be best to get you out of there,” he says as he opens the passenger door for you. 

You nod woodenly as you get in, but are unable to come up with anything to say. The ride home is silent in the car, but in your head it’s anything but. 

There was a time you didn’t feel like this, but it feels like it was so long ago. You were once happy, but you couldn’t say when. You can see Bucky chew his lip in worry as he glances at you periodically, and the guilt just about overwhelms you. He shouldn’t have to deal with this. With you.

He still doesn’t say anything as you get home, and you start to wonder if he’s planning to leave. It’d be understandable – you certainly wouldn’t blame him.

Fear drives you out of the car and to your bedroom as quickly as possible; you don’t know why, but you want to hide. Well, yes you do. Your conversation with your mother has made you realize that you’re in a depressive episode. God, this sucks. It brings about the tiniest but of clarity, though.

As you take down your hair and toss your headband onto the vanity, there’s a light knock on the door, but Bucky doesn’t wait before entering. He approaches, stopping just behind you, careful not to get too close. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, and Sugarplum, I’m trying to respect that but you’re starting to scare me.” Bucky sounds so timid and unsure, and you hate yourself for making him feel this way. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

Taking a deep breath as you turn around, you’re taken aback by the look on his face; you’ve never seen him look so lost.

How do you put this into words?

“I just…sometimes I just really hate myself.” And with your whispered confession, the dam finally breaks.

He catches you as you sink to the floor, pulling your bawling form into his lap as he cradles you in his embrace. The words finally come as he softly strokes your hair and gently rocks, and it feels both horrible and wonderful to voice the feelings you’ve been trying to shove down.

Bucky holds you, remaining silent throughout although you hear a few poorly hidden sharp intakes of breath when he is particularly distressed by something you’ve said.

It isn’t until you’ve been quiet for quite some time, save for crying, that he finally speaks up.

“How do I help you?” Bucky sounds almost as broken as you feel.

“ _I don’t wanna feel like this tomorrow, I don’t wanna live like this today. Make me feel better, I wanna feel better_ ,” you sob, clutching him tightly. “Please, _put me back together_.”

“What can I do for you, Sugarplum? I’ll do anything.” The desperation in his voice is clear.

“ _Stay with me here_ ,” you hiccup.

“I love you, baby, nothing could ever take me away.” He holds you impossibly close as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Can you just do one thing for me? Please?” He doesn’t wait for your response before he whispers his request, “ _Never surrender_.”

“I won’t,” you sniffle as you bury your face into his neck. He holds you a bit longer before untangling himself from you and helping you to your feel. Without releasing your hand, he leads you into the bathroom and directs you to sit on the toilet seat.

Another kiss is pressed the crown of your head as you stare at the floor in front of you. You’ve essentially purged the self-hate that’s been brewing over the past few weeks, and now you’re exhausted. Bucky’s tinkering with something in the medicine cabinet and then running water, but you don’t have the energy to look.

He kneels in front of you before whispering, “Close your eyes for me, Sugarplum.” You do, and you feel the soothing chill of a cotton ball soaked in your make up remover as it passes over your swollen eyes. Bucky then brings you to your feet and removes your clothing before leading you into the shower. You stand under the spray, allowing the water and Bucky’s gentle touch to rinse away the remaining traces of your emotional breakdown.

It feels good to let him take care of you, and you do your best to ignore the voice in your head telling you that you don’t deserve this.

He presses a kiss to your shoulder before retrieving a towel to wrap your hair and then a second to dry your body. Neither of you speaks; you don't have to. You've already said what you have to say and he knows from experience that words aren't enough in this kind of situation, so instead of filling the silence with optimistic yet ultimately trite and cliched phrases, he puts his love into motion. 

You try to smile at him to acknowledge his efforts because you're grateful for him, you really are, but it comes off as a pained grimace as a few more tears leak out. Bucky knows what you mean, though, and he simply kisses away your tears before helping you into your comfiest pajamas. He pauses to pull your hair up and out of your way and then leads you back into the bedroom. As he gets dressed your eyes follow him - God, when he moves he’s like poetry in motion. The graceful purpose with which he moves his body never fails to mesmerize you, and the glint from his metal arm is hypnotic in the dim lighting. And yet...hasn't he felt the same self-abhorring feelings about himself that you've been drowning in lately? It sort of puts things into perspective. He still has days when he thinks he's a monster, but you adore him nonetheless. It occurs to you that he's doing the same for you; loving the monster you think you are without ever seeing the ugly. Your brain wants to know why, why would he bother? And then your heart mutters its reply: because he loves you, you dolt. 

If only there was a way to make your heart consistently louder than your brain. 

“Arms up, Sugarplum,” his quiet voice breaks through your internal musing, and you do as he requests so he can slip one of his hoodies on you. 

Finally fully warm and less lost in the cold confines of your mind, he leads you into the living room where he sits in the corner of the couch before pulling down to lie with your head in his lap. You curl yourself into a ball, and upon seeing that you're still extremely raw, Bucky gathers you up and cradles you in his arms before shifting you both, moving until he's mostly beneath you and you're almost fully enveloped within his embrace with your head resting over his heart. He somehow manages to drape a blanket over you, tucking you into him until you begin to feel safe and protected from yourself. It's almost imperceptible, but you're sure you feel the shattered pieces of your soul slowly start to knit back together. 

Your eyes slide closed as he grabs the remote and flips on the tv, searching the channels until he finds the movie Armageddon. Bucky reaches again, and a moment later you hear him tapping something on his phone. The sounds blend with those of one of your favorite movies as you finally drift off to sleep. 

***

The sound of rustling bags wakes you, but you don't bother to open your eyes. 

“I really don't think that the animal cracker qualifies as a cracker.” You must not have been out that long - Armageddon is still on, and it's currently at one of your favorite scenes. 

“Well cause it's sweet, which to me suggests cookie, and, you know, I mean putting cheese on something is sort of the defining characteristic of what makes a cracker a cracker. Damn right - you tell her, AJ. 

“Thanks, Stevie.” Bucky's quiet voice captures your attention. 

“Anytime, Buck. Is she okay? Is there anything we can do?”

“Nah, I got this. I'll let you know if anything changes.”

“Alright, just text me if you need anything else.”

You feel Bucky's nod before he presses a kiss to the top of your head. Steve lets himself out, and you allow yourself to float a bit in the tenuous peace Bucky has provided for you. 

Your stomach growls at the smell of the food that's clearly on your coffee table - if your nose isn't lying, it's your favorite take out. Still, you don't speak or open your eyes until the horrifically wonderful sound of AJ and his team serenading Grace floats into the living room. 

“From now on, I want a full rendition of Leaving on a Jet Plane before you leave for missions.”

You feel more than hear his quiet chuckle. “For you, Sugarplum, anything.” There's a long pause before he continues, “Do you know why I call you Sugarplum?”

“Because you're old, and back in the day when you had to walk uphill butt naked through 2 miles of snow to get to school, that's what guys called their best girl?”

“Hey! I’ll have you know - well - shit, you're not wrong,” he concedes with a breathy laugh. 

You smile, and for the first time in weeks it doesn't feel like your cheeks will crack with the effort. 

“Before I met you, plums were my favorite thing in the world. Then you came along, and you loved me when I was at my worst. And I figured, well, if a woman like you can love me at my worst, then maybe I'm worth loving after all. You became my favorite thing, but just calling you Plum sounded kinda funny, and besides, I love you better than plums, so I put the Sugar in front of it.” He shrugs. “And yes, it was an endearment back in the good ol’ days when you young whipper snappers respected your elders.”

You shift to smile up at him. 

“I’m gonna love you through this. I know I can’t make it better, but I’ll be by your side the whole time. I’ll love you enough for both of us until you can learn how to love yourself.”

You think to what he just said a few moments ago. “Well, I guess if a man like you can love me at my worst, then maybe I’m worth loving after all.”

He smiles his signature lopsided smile when he recognizes his own words. “That’s my girl.”

“Thanks, Buck.”

There's a light in his eyes when he asks, “For what, Sugarplum?”

“ _You make me feel better_.” The relief in his eyes is evident, even though you both know this is far from over. Still, you know whether or not you feel worthy of his devotion, he’ll be with you every step of the way. The knowledge doesn’t magically make everything better, but it gives you courage to face tomorrow. “I promise, Buck, no matter how bad it gets, I'll _never surrender_.”


End file.
